The Cornerstones of Midnight
by Melissa R. Mendelson
Summary: At the cornerstones of midnight, the rain came crashing down, washing away the remains of that bloody night, and I was left stranded, trapped between darkness and fright. But I never broke. I learned to fight.
1. Chapter 1

Ch. 1

It was heavy rain that night. Dark rain that pounded the stones outside, washing all the blood away, but the bodies remained. Tears raced down their bloody, scarred cheeks, trying to wash the pain away, but their faces remembered their death. Some hands still gripped weapons that failed to save them. Their black uniforms seemed to melt against stone, and a broken, silver chain was carried away somewhere in the darkness. And another blast of gunfire echoed in the night air.

"Take the gun, and shoot him," he commanded, forcing the hot weapon into my hand. It had taken many lives tonight, burning with the scent of death. "Shoot him," and he grabbed my hand, forcing me to aim at a man on his knees. "Now," he nearly screamed into my ear.

"I can't," I whispered, and my hand shook. "I can't do it," and he struck me against the face. And blood spat out and then ran down my chin. "I can't," I screamed at him as he ripped the gun from my hand and shot the man in his head.

"If you weren't my blood," he snarled at me.

"Sir," a man also wearing a black uniform stepped forward. "I think we got all the traitors."

"Good," he responded.

"And him," the man asked, gesturing toward me.

I could see that he was thinking about it. His grip tightened on the gun. He then turned toward the body by his feet. For a moment there, I thought that he would spin around and shoot me in the head. Instead, he holstered his weapon and stormed away. "We take him with us," and he walked outside into the pouring rain.

"I would have killed you," the other man said to me. "We don't tolerate weakness."

"I'm not weak," I snapped at him.

"No. You're just a princess," and he stepped away. "If your whore of a mother was still alive, we would leave you with her, but… I guess we're stuck with you," and he walked outside.

"Fuck you," I yelled after him, and I swore that I could hear him laughing outside, despite the heavy rain. "Bastard," I muttered under my breath.

My attention fell on the man near my feet. A river of his blood was washing over my black shoe. His eyes bore a hole through me, almost mocking me for failing to kill him, but I knew this man. He was good to my mother before she died. He was good to me, so how could he be a traitor? How could he steal from us, and where did the money go? And where do we go next, but the night was over. And because I failed to kill him, he would not give me dinner. I would be lucky for scraps, and if I wanted water… There was always the pouring rain.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2

There was a lot of blood. My hands were covered in it, and it refused to stop. It continued to pour from the hole in his chest, and despite the pressure that I applied, it just wouldn't stop. But despite all that loss, he refused to die. He just stared at me not with hate or with fear. He stared at me as if I were the one about to die.

"They should be here soon," I said as I continued to press my hands against his chest. "Any minute now."

"If you didn't fuck up, we wouldn't be in this situation," he snarled.

"Maverick…"

"Don't call me by my name, princess."

"How about calling me by my name? Nobody's said my name in the last few years."

"Few years," he laughed. "He didn't know about you until you were nine, and now you're twelve and a half pounds of useless waste."

"I'm thirteen," and I stormed away from him.

"So, what? You're going to leave me here to die," he yelled after me.

The meet had gone wrong. They were planning a double cross. I had made my way as a smooth talker, but they knew that I would be unarmed. And they weren't. If it wasn't for Maverick, I would be dead. Instead, we were hunkered down in some broken, metallic shed, and it was scorching outside. If Maverick had the strength, he would hurl me outside to roast, which would be a nice change to sleeping in the rain.

"I asked you a question, princess," he said as he pressed his own hands over his wound. He was leaned up against the wall, and his black uniform was soaked in red. "How about you just kill me? Oh, wait. You don't like guns," and now he aimed his gun at me. "Give me a reason," he said.

"If you hate me so much, then why go with me? Why save my life?"

"Because he asked me to," and the gun never wavered in his hand. "I warned him about you, even with the medical tests proving that you were his, and your mother keeping you a secret for nine years. I told him not to trust you. You don't fear him. Do you?"

"No," I said.

"You hate him," Maverick said, and it wasn't a question.

"It goes beyond hate," but then I regretted saying that.

"You're just like your mother," Maverick snapped.

"My mother was no saint, but she was good to me. At the end of the night, I had a bed, clothes and food. My father…"

"Don't call him that," Maverick ordered, and the gun still remained in his hand.

"He treats me like a dog."

"And there will come a day, where you will need to be put down."

"Is today that day," and I stepped closer to him.

"It should've been," he responded.

"So, go ahead. Do it."

"Don't test me. If I don't make it, then you need to."

"Why," I asked him.

"So that he can take his men and slaughter those that betrayed us."

"You would think that he would tire of all his bloodshed."

"He's no saint," Maverick said, and then he paused for a long moment. "Neither are you."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that if you don't die, he will, and I'm his right-hand man. And if I survive this, I will kill you. Maybe, not today or tomorrow, but I will kill you."

"You stupid shit. I was the one that dragged you out of there. I was the one that got you here, and I was the one trying to save you. I should have left you to die," and I heard the click. But his gun was empty. "I thought that today wasn't that day."

"I changed my mind," and he threw his gun to the side. "Talk to me like that again, and I will kill you with my bare hands."

"Go ahead and try, sweetie. I'm right here," and I laughed as he struggled to stand. But for a moment there, it looked like he had found the strength to crawl back to his feet, but then he fell back down onto the ground. "Didn't think so."

"If you weren't such a princess, you would kill me," Maverick said.

"You know, I really hate that all of you call me that," I said.

"Then, be a man, and kill me."

"You would like that. Wouldn't you," and I inched closer. I looked over at the empty gun. Then, my eyes moved over to the toolbox nearby. It would be easy. I knew that, but I couldn't do it. "No. Pass," and I moved over to a broken window, feeling the heat on my face.

"You won't do it not because you can't, but because of him. What will you say to him? How will you explain my death? What punishment will await you for fucking up at the meet and with me? Maybe, just maybe, he will finally kill you," and I looked at him when he said that. "Do you think that he loves you," and he started to laugh.

"I know that he doesn't," and in the distance, I could see smoke rising. They were coming, and when they got here, they would save him. But what about me?

A moment passed. I realized that it was quiet. A cold chill settled upon my neck and slipped down my spine. Was he standing behind me? Was this it, the moment, where I died? Instead, I turned toward Maverick, who remained on the floor, looking up at me with a smile on his face. He thought he got the last laugh in, but he was wrong. In the end, I would be the one laughing.


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3

The screams were deafening. The chanting non-stop. The roars of the Undefeated. The demands for more as a body was dragged away. Voices then fell silent, and a number was called. Then, the host screamed, "Let's get ready to Battle!"

Battle was simple. It was a small, white arena with two men. Each man had a large, metallic bracelet on each of their wrists. When they struck their opponent, an electrical charge would zap them, and the more that they were zapped, the more points the other would gain. There were no other rules, but if one of the opponents fought dirty, then the other was free to do whatever they wished. And a lot of times, two men would enter the arena, and only one would come out.

The first opponent was known as Anvil. He was a small guy, but he punched hard. And he was swinging away, but the other opponent, a young, Asian man kept dodging his every blow, landing his own, which enraged Anvil. He slammed his two metallic bracelets together, creating a small shockwave that sent the Asian man flying down onto the mat. Then, Anvil jumped on him, slamming his fists into the man's face, but the other man quickly swung around him, landing a sharp kick to Anvil's back. And a loud crack was heard, and Anvil fell to his knees. And the Asian man wasn't finished with him. He grabbed him by the neck, shocking him in the process, and flipping him over his shoulder and onto the mat. Then, he grabbed him again by the neck, and he paused to look over at an older, bald Asian man wearing a silver and blue Kimono that folded across his chest. And the Asian man nodded, and the Asian fighter spun around Anvil, snapping his neck.

I had seen my father talking with the older, bald Asian man, whispering into his ear. I worried of what he was saying. They both glanced at me several times, and then I turned to watch Anvil get dragged away. A moment passed, and my number was called.

Didn't this guy get tired of fighting? He couldn't have been more than twenty-years-old, and he took his fighting stance with a short bow. I looked over at the older, bald Asian man and then at my father as two men strapped metallic bracelets onto my wrists, and then my face and the Asian man's face flashed overhead. And of course under my face was the name, Princess, which angered me, so after the announcer screamed his motto, I released my fury, landing several punches, but the Asian fighter just seemed amused. And then he responded with a swift kicks to the ribs and then to the face, and then he slammed his fist into my chest, knocking me down. I didn't expect those shocks to hurt, but they hurt. And then he flipped over me, readying a kick to the back, but I spun around and surprised him by grabbing his leg and landing a sharp blow to his chest. He seemed impressed, but then he jumped to his feet, flipping through the air. And his foot connected to my face.

"Stay down," he whispered into my ear, but I didn't listen. I got back up and moved into a fighting stance, and he took his fighting stance. And then he released an onslaught of punches and kicks. Most I was able to block, but it was like fighting a hurricane. And suddenly his fist connected to the back of my head, shocking me in the process, and I fell forward onto the mat. And then it was over, and I was dragged away.

My father didn't talk to me the rest of the night. He just made his rounds. I sat at the bar, nursing my wounds. It was only then that I realized that I wasn't alone. The Asian fighter stood beside me and lifted one finger in the air, and the bartender ran to get his drink. Then, he sat down on a bar stool and stared at me, making me uncomfortable.

"What," I finally snapped at him.

"You fight well. I'm glad you didn't fight dirty."

"Why? Would you then kill me," and I watched him down his drink.

"No. I was told not to kill you. Only to punish you." He ordered another drink. "What did you do?"

"I let his friend die," and I downed my own drink, ordering another. "He hasn't forgiven me for that, and I don't think he will."

"Was he a good man?"

"No," I replied. "There are no good men surrounding him. They're all beasts."

"Then, why are you with them?"

"I don't have a choice."

"We all have a choice," he replied.

"Do you like killing those men?"

"I consider it training," he replied.

"For what," I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe, the . one day," and he finished his drink. But he didn't order another one. "My father once said that if the devil runs from a man, never trust him, and never turn your back on him. If you can leave him, I would," and then he gestured over to my father talking with another fighter, who had also won several rounds. "Good luck," and the Asian fighter stepped away.

"I didn't catch your name," I said.

"I didn't give it." He took another step away and then paused, turning toward me. "Fancy, and I know that your name is not Princess. The next person that calls you that should be beaten senseless," and I raised my glass to him. And he smiled and walked away.

I turned toward my father, watching him order more drinks for the fighter, and my skin crawled. He was planning something. He was always planning something, and when he did, someone died. Would that someone be me?


	4. Chapter 4

Ch. 4

"Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree? I travel the world and the seven seas. Everybody's looking for something."

The Royale was in full swing tonight. People were anxious about the coming war and ordered more drinks to quiet their nerves. They cheered and swung their glasses up into the air as Pree finished his song, and then they fell back, lost to their thoughts. Two men nearby started to fight, but then they thought better of it. They cursed at each other and then went their separate ways, and more people walked in, thirsty and desperate to forget that the end might have come for them all. And it started to rain. It rained hard.

Pree stared out at the rain. He watched it crash against the stone. So much death had covered Old Town. So many bodies, and then he looked at the floor of his bar. And he thought of Pawter Simms. "For you, Red," and he downed a drink.

"Take the gun, and shoot him," a voice commanded, and Pree flinched. "Shoot him!"

"You okay," Gared asked as he wiped down the bar, and Pree looked once more at the rain. "Something wrong?"

"No," and Pree flashed him a smile. "Just thinking about the past. That's all."

"You never talk about your past," Gared replied.

"Nothing to talk about," Pree said as he looked around his bar, sighing deeply. Then, he noticed a man sitting in the corner, and he knew that this man was not from Old Town. He didn't belong here, and he was nursing his drink, waiting for the right moment. And Pree would be damned, if he allowed him to make his move. "Be right back," and he forced another smile at Gared.

"Okay," but Gared stared after him, glancing at the man that Pree was walking toward.

"You don't belong here," Pree snapped as the man continued to nurse his drink. "Leave."

"Good to see you too," the man replied. "It's been a very long time."

"I'm asking nicely, and just once." Pree leaned down toward him. "Get the hell out of my bar. Now."

"Come on, Princess," and a knife flashed against his throat.

"Go ahead. Say that name again," and Pree pushed the blade harder against his skin, drawing blood.

"I could always call you by your real name."

"Honey, that name hasn't been said in years, and it belongs to a small boy that was thrown to wolves."

"I'm not here to fight," and he raised his hands up into the air.

"No. You're just here to kill me."

"I am," and he finished his drink despite the knife still pressed against his throat. "So?"

"So, what?"

"What are you waiting for?"

Pree slowly moved the knife away from him and returned it back to its hiding place underneath his sleeve. "What are you waiting for," Pree asked.

"I want to know what happened that night."

"What night?"

"You know what tonight is," and Pree flinched. "It rained that night too."

"It's history. Ancient history. Now, get out before I have you thrown out."

"You won't see me coming next time, Pree," and he spat that name out. "I'm giving you a chance."

"To do what?"

"To tell me what happened that night when you left."

"Honey, you want a bedtime story? Is that it," and Pree laughed.

"I want the truth. I deserve the truth. We both know which one of us was really his son."

"You were just a stray that he picked up off the gutter."

"So were you." The man remained sitting in his chair, but his intensity rose. And now more stares fell his way, and Pree glanced over his shoulder at Gared. "So?"

"Fine. You want a bedtime story? I'll give you a bedtime story," but Pree turned and stormed away.

"Thought you were going to tell me a story," the man yelled after him.

"It's a long story, honey, and we're going to need some Hokk. Gared, get me the blue."

"You sure, Pree?"

"Just get it," and Gared pulled a silver key from his pocket and unlocked a small panel underneath the bar.

"Who's that man that you're talking to? He seems dangerous."

"Don't worry, sweetie. I'm dangerous," and Pree grabbed the bottle from him.

"Should I be worried," Gared yelled after him.

"No," Pree yelled back, and then he slammed the bottle down onto the man's table. "Alright, Draon. It's story time," and he sat down opposite him. "I'll pour, and I'll tell. And when I'm done, you leave, and you don't come back."

"We'll see," and the man watched Pree fill his glass. "Let's begin."

"No, there's no more beginning here. Just the end," and Pree held the glass up toward him, and the man did the same. And then they both downed their drinks.


	5. Chapter 5

Ch. 5

It was pouring rain again. Black tears fell against stone. The sun was a distant memory. The winds picked up and struck anyone outside down. The only shelter was an abandoned factory, but the rain found its way in. And more black tears fell, covering the air with an icy coldness that killed the warmth from fires burning in large, metallic barrels, and the rain pounded against metal, which echoed across the factory walls. And dread and despair took a seat by the open doors, and the men inside huddled together, ready for another long, long night. But no hope shined in their eyes. Instead, it was defeat, chased by a touch of death.

The past year was not a good year. Many of his men died. Some died brutally. A few disappeared, but they probably just ran away. They must have seen the writing on the wall especially with the R.A.C. closing in, arresting those that they could for the warrant was all, and the rest of us were forced into hiding. But there weren't too many of us left, and now we live on a dismal piece of rock, where it rained all the time. But it wasn't just rain. The black tears that continued to fall were filled with acid, and if they touched your skin, it did more than burn you. It poisoned you, and last week, he was caught outside in the rain.

There were nine of us now including him and the young fighter known as Draon. For the most part, we stayed inside the factory, but last week, it stopped raining. We ventured out, scouting for food and supplies, but all we found were black rock. And our ship was grounded, beyond repair, so Draon and I killed time by fighting one another. In the beginning, Draon was like a brother to me, and he even taught me some fighting moves. That changed when we crashed here and our fearless leader spoke to him, and our play fighting turned real and turned bloody. And now he was eying me as he sharpened his knife, waiting for that moment to strike, where he would cut off my head for his were filled with lies and illusions, but he was a fool to believe the words of a wicked man for there was nothing left to rule. His reign of terror was finally over, and that wicked man was now sick and broken, coughing so harshly that it was a miracle that his heart had not yet burst.

I stood by the fires, trying to get warm. We burned everything. Wood. Clothes. Weapons. Food. I forgot when I ate last. I was so used to it by now, and I could go days, maybe a week or so without food, but not the rest of them. Not Draon. He continued to sharpen his knife, but I heard his stomach growl. And he couldn't wipe away the face of exhaustion. Neither could the other men, who cast deadly glares my way, but I didn't care. They were all dangling across the edge of madness. All of them except for me, and soon they would pass out, fall asleep on the harsh cement floor beneath them. All of them except for me.

Last week, when we were scouting, I was able to sneak away for a bit. That was when I saw the supply ships. They were flying toward these mining caves, where they were drilling this black ore. The black ore was priceless and could be harnessed for energy. Most of that energy was transformed into weapons, and now the R.A.C. wanted in. At least, that was what I heard two of the miners say, and then they mentioned that the R.A.C. was cutting into their supply, using the ore for themselves, and becoming a formidable force to be dealt with. Then, they looked my way, and I ran back toward the factory. And nobody seemed to notice my disappearance. Draon did, but at that time, I didn't care.

Every chance I got to sneak away, I noticed more and more supply ships were coming in. They had no idea that we were there, and I didn't breathe a word about it. It was my secret, but seeing how they had accelerated their pick-up schedule, I knew that my time was running out. And the R.A.C. must be closing in, so if I was going to leave, sneak onboard one of those ships, it had to be soon. I could do it. He wouldn't notice. Draon would, but what could he do to stop me? I could sneak onboard now. Disappear. Become someone else, but I had to do something first. I had to avenge her. I owed her that, and I closed my eyes, seeing my mother's face before me just as he cut her throat.

My mother was the one that incited the coup. She turned his men against him and stole all his money. If one man had not slipped up, he would never have known, and he would have been assassinated. And my life would have been different, very different, but one fuck up changed all that. And despite his love for her, there was no forgiveness, no mercy. Just a knife to the throat, and I was forced to watch. I was forced to see the life drain from her eyes and neck, and that moment still haunts me. So, no, I couldn't leave just yet. Instead, I reached into my pocket, making sure that the knife was still there, and it was. It was time, and his men wouldn't save him this time because their loyalty was broken. They wanted him dead, so that they could leave here. But they wanted Draon to do it and then for him to lead them, but Draon wanted the old man to first name him as successor. Again, he was a fool for he was never going to be named successor, and I waited long enough. I waited through enough harsh and long years and bitter nights for this moment, for tonight, and after tonight, I would finally be free. And the person that I was would be no more. Instead, I would be someone else, so the old man had to die. He had to die tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

Ch. 6

The factory was once used by miners. They would go out into the mines and drill the black ore. Then, they would load up their supply onto their trucks and carry it back to the factory. In those days, the skies were clear and blue. The sun was shining strong, and the men were prosperous, working from morning to evening. And then at night, they would drink and fall asleep, looking up at the stars.

Nobody knew when it happened exactly, but supposedly, it was in the evening. They were just bringing in a large supply of black ore. They carried it inside like they have always done. Something went wrong. Maybe, a table broke, and the black ore struck the ground. Or maybe, one of the men cutting into it was using a defective tool that sparked a little too much. Either way, there was a spark, followed by a thunderous boom, and chased by a big, black cloud that may as well have been a sand storm. And that storm swallowed up all of the men, spitting them out dead, and part of the factory caved, covered in black ore. But the other half of the factory didn't follow. Instead, it supported itself on top of the debris and the dead, and after all this time, it was still standing, providing shelter for him and his men.

I don't know when the miners returned to this rock. It must have been a long time. The skies were black mirrors now, reflecting the black ore below. The air was thick. The rain was always falling, but like I said, it wasn't just rain. And the sun was snuffed out, and the stars were gone. The world was black, and even the fires refused to burn brightly. They just wanted to die, and in the end, their ash was poured over the dead, skeletal remains that nobody came back for and buried. But then we burned those bones too. Well, they did, and I didn't. Bad karma for them, which made things easier.

I was able to steal a small bottle of whiskey from the miners when they weren't looking. I already figured out that they were here illegally, mining the black ore for themselves. They were just waiting for the air to be safe to breathe, and it really wasn't. It rested heavy in your chest, and if you stayed too long, breathing the black ore in, it would slowly suffocate you. And who were they going to complain to over a stolen bottle of whiskey? Besides, they probably had more on their ship, and they didn't seem to care. With what they were drilling, they could have bought a million bottles of whiskey.

Seeing how toxic the rain and air were, I knew that the ground was too, but the soil didn't burn my skin. It was just cold like death, slipping through my fingers as if I were on a beach, and it was nothing but sand. And like a kid scooping up sand to make a castle, I placed it into the small bottle of whiskey, and then I shook the bottle. And the liquid turned black, and I hid the bottle on my body. There were times that I thought the bottle would break, and the glass would cut me, leaving me open to the poison. But despite the blows from Draon, the bottle never broke, and tonight was the night to offer it to the men. And their eyes grew wide as if I had brought them gold, and they quickly pushed me aside, grabbing the bottle, and downing its contents. The only one that didn't drink it was Draon, who said that he didn't feel well, and he curled up on the cement floor with his back turned toward us. I didn't want him to drink it, but it broke my heart, thinking of him starving to death. But he was not my brother, and I waited by the fires for the poison to kick in.

An hour passed. His men were dead. Draon also seemed lost to the world, but I never checked his pulse. And his back was still turned toward me. I looked at him for a very long time, and then I turned toward the twisted, metal stairs nearby. When he got sick, he forced himself up those stairs, and he must have known then that he would never come back down. And the room up there was no sanctuary. It was not even a prison. It was his tomb.

I opened the door to the large office upstairs. The lights overhead flickered. A large, metallic desk was turned over. Paper covered the floors. He had used his large, fur coat as a bed and his boots as a pillow, and he struggled to sit up on the hard floor, placing one shaking hand on a cracked wall for support. And he turned toward me, and I swear that he just smiled.

The small man crouched in front of me used to be a giant. A monstrous, brutal giant. His eyes used to be so large and shine with every splash of blood. His hands were like claws that would grip the necks of his enemies and snap them like twigs, but the man before me was no giant now. He was a dwarf compared to that monster, and sickness paled his skin. And poison coursed through his veins, making his body twitch and jolt, and his eyes were still big. But they didn't gleam from bloodshed. They shined with fear.

"I guess it's that time," he said, and his voice was unrecognizable as if he had swallowed a fistful of sandpaper. "Maverick was right," and he looked away.

"You should have let me die," I said.

I was standing before him now, and he continued to sit before me, drawing his knees up to his chin. If he was the man that he once was, he would be standing. He would be fighting, and he would probably kill me. But this man was not him, and killing him was like as an act of mercy. But there was no mercy here, no forgiveness, and the knife was in my hand, the knife that he used on her. And he recognized it.

"I thought I lost that," he said, looking at the knife, but never reaching for it. "When did you steal it from me?"

"When you weren't looking," I replied.

"And my men?"

"Dead."

"Draon?"

"Dead," I said again.

"You killed your own brother," he asked.

"Draon was not my brother, and no, I didn't kill him."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He raised his neck up toward me, waiting for the blow. "Come on. I don't have all day," he snapped.

"Did you ever love me," and he held my gaze. "Did you ever love her," and he continued to hold my gaze. "Then, why keep me around? Why save my life?"

"Because you are my son," he finally answered, and a long pause followed. "Doesn't mean that I had to love you," and the knife flashed in the air, shining against the flickering lights.

"I never loved you either," and I watched him fall to the side. The blood dripped off the knife. A tear slipped down my cheek. "For you, Mom," I whispered as I stared down at his body.

The rain had stopped falling outside. I stepped over the dead men, and a cold breeze rested against my skin. It wasn't punishing me for what I had done. It comforted me, soothing my scars as I marched up the hill, knowing that the supply ships were on the other side. I was so lost in thought with the bloody knife still gripped in my hand that I never saw him sneak up behind me, and then he lunged toward me, striking me in the back. And we both fell down the hill.

Like a cat, Draon pounced on top of me, trying to wrap his hands around my neck. I thought he had grown weak. I thought he was starving, exhausted, but he was quite strong. And his hands squeezed, and I gasped. I used all my strength to punch him in the side of his head with the hand that wasn't holding the knife, and he nearly fell over. But then he regained his balance, grabbing the knife from my hand, and plunging it down into my stomach.

"You ruin everything," Draon said as he fell back a short distance. "All you had to do was die."

"All this because you wanted what he had," I gasped as blood poured from my mouth.

"I didn't want what he had," Draon said. "I wanted to be him. I wanted to be just like him, but I didn't need his men to do it. And I didn't need you around, and after you gasp your last breath, I'm going to march up that hill. And I'm going to be the one sneaking on board one of those supply ships, and I'm going to go somewhere, where the R.A.C. isn't. And I'm going to become just like him, but I'm going to be better, smarter, deadlier. And I won't have a son or daughter that will be my end."

As Draon droned on, I looked away. The wind continued to blow. It was as if the ground itself was moving, and the black ore was shining. And a shadow formed. At first, I thought it was a trick of light, but there was no light here. Just darkness. Darkness and blood, and I was ice cold. And the shadow rose up from the ground, and it looked right at me. Maybe, I deserved to go to hell, but the shadow descended upon Draon. And he screamed, turning pale, and falling over, and I knew that he was dead.

The shadow then turned toward me. Its hands formed, small and delicate, and they reached for the knife, pulling it from my stomach. The knife was dropped to the side, and then the hands moved up past its breasts, touching its heart. And blackness covered its fingertips, which slowly moved down toward my wound, plunging its hands deep inside of me, and I screamed. But I refused to pass out, and then I realized that the shadow was walking away.

"Please," I yelled after her. "Please, let him live."

"Why," her hollow voice drifted back toward me. "He'll try to kill you again."

"Just let the poor bastard live."

"On one condition," and she drew closer to me. "If he finds you again, you return him to me," and she covered my hands with hers. "Do you promise?"

"I do," I said, and I watched the shadow descend upon him again.

"It is done," and she disappeared.

I used the last of my strength to get back onto my feet, and then I raced up the hill. I don't remember much afterward. Just bits and pieces. Falling down the hill. Men finding me. Being dragged onto the ship. Blinding, bright lights. Then, darkness. Nothing but darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Ch. 7

Bright sunlight cascaded throughout the room. Birds sang and chirped nearby. Small, golden sands gleamed on a large tree and its branches, which were carved into a wall. Silence was filled with serenity, and peace was the warm bed underneath a war-torn body.

"You're awake," a voice said, but it wasn't a question. "You've been asleep for a very long time."

I slowly sat up on the bed, but every inch of my body wanted to return to its sleeping position. I had not had a bed like this in a very long time, and then I noticed that my clothes were gone. Instead, I wore smooth, pale white pajamas, and they caressed my skin, trying to erase all the harshness that it had endured. But my scars remained. What I did would never be forgotten, and maybe, it would never be forgiven. But there was no darkness here, no rain. There was just sunlight, and its warmth felt so good when it touched my skin, making me forget about those cold, dark nights filled with fear and death. Maybe, I was finally in heaven.

"You're on Leith at Scarback Monastery," the man replied as he continued to sit on the floor in a Lotus position, and then I realized that his eyes were closed. "I sensed you were awake," he replied.

"Can you read minds," I asked.

"No, but that would be a great trick." He opened his eyes, which were brown. "My name is Alvis. You are?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but it just hung open. Then, I closed it fast. What do I tell him? My real name had not been said for a very long time. Should I say that I was called, Princess, a revolting word created by my father and his men? They never called me that after that night in the arena. I made sure of it, and I didn't know what to say. Who was I? What was my name?

"Maybe, you don't know," Alvis said. "The raving man did not know."

"The raving man," I asked.

"The one with the bloody knife. The one that nearly killed you. The one that slaughtered all those men back at the factory," and I flinched at that. "So, you do remember that, but you do not remember your name?"

"I have had many names," I finally said.

"But none of them were you?"

"No. Not anymore," I replied.

"Well, a name does not define who we are. It defines who we want to be. Who do you want to be?"

"A good man," I said, and I fell quiet for a long moment. "The raving man is called Draon."

"Well, at least, we have his name, and I will let the Killjoy know. But this man does not remember anything. Why is that?"

"I don't know," but I could tell that Alvis did not believe me. "Am I a prisoner here?"

"Should you be," Alvis asked.

"Maybe," and I turned toward the window, yearning for the sunlight to fall more upon me. It's been too long since I felt its warmth.

"You've been trapped in the dark for a long time," and I turned toward Alvis, failing to hide my surprise. "I think you've been a prisoner also for too long," and he stood up from the ground. He brushed his hands against his brown pants and then adjusted his green cape. "You are free to go unless you choose to stay here, but if you want to go, your boots are over there." He pointed toward a corner of the room, where my boots waited, and they shined with black ore. "It was nice meeting you, whoever you are," and he moved toward the door, which I had not realized was left half open until now.

"I did a terrible thing," I said, and he stopped moving. Why did I say that? Why did I feel this guilt? It was like a weight pressing against my heart. Was it because she saved me? Did I need to confess what I did, and who better to confess to than a monk that was now standing before me. "I killed someone," and my eyes met his. "My father."

"I see," Alvis replied, and then he leaned in closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. "And did your father give you all those scars on your body?" I slowly nodded. "Then, maybe that was his punishment."

"But isn't killing a sin?"

"It is," and he moved his hand away. "Unless it's justified," and I nodded in response. "Get some rest, and then let me know what you decide."

"On what," I asked.

"On staying or going?"

"I need to go," I said but more to myself. "I don't know who I am, but I don't think I will find who I want to be, if I stay here."

"Then, I will have a ship ready for you by the end of today," and he moved toward the door.

"Alvis," and he looked over his shoulder at me. "Why are you being kind to me? Is it because you're a monk?"

"No. I am being kind to you because you are a lost soul. I saw it the moment that you were brought here, and if leaving here will give you peace, then I will help you on your journey. But whatever that journey is? You will have to find it for yourself."

"I will. Thank you," and I suddenly burst into tears. "I'm sorry," and I tried to brush the tears away.

"It must have been a very long time, since anyone showed you kindness," Alvis replied.

"Yes," I said.

"Then, you are very welcomed," and he smiled. "Good journey," and he left the room.

"Good-bye," I said. "My name is…" I had no answers. I was no longer him, and that boy was long gone. The princess was dead, and so was his monster. I was nobody, just a stranger, and Alvis was right when he said that a name did not define who you are. It defined who you wanted to be, but who did I want to be? I didn't know, but one thing was for sure. I would never be my father.


	8. Chapter 8

Last Chapter:

 _ **At the cornerstones of midnight,**_

 _ **the rain came crashing down,**_

 _ **washing away the remains of that bloody night,**_

 _ **and I was left stranded,**_

 _ **trapped between darkness and fright.**_

 _ **But I never broke.**_

 _ **I learned to fight.**_

Draon looked like he was sleeping. His head rested down against the wooden table. His glass was tipped over and on its side. His eyes stared at the wall as if a dream were playing out in front of him, but then the red velvet curtain came down. And when it did, the rain outside stopped falling.

"As promised," and Pree polished off his drink. Then, he stared at Draon, and he slowly reached for him, running his fingers through his hair. "You should never have found me," Pree said with a deep sigh. "That was your last mistake."

Leaning back in his chair, Pree turned to survey his bar. It had grown a lot quieter in here. Most of his patrons had called it a night. A few used the bar as their bed, but he would set them straight in a few minutes. And then he looked over at Gared, who remained standing behind the bar, but Gared stared back at Pree. And worry and fear shined in his eyes.

"Damn it," Pree muttered to himself. "Gared," and he gestured for Gared to come over to him.

"Pree?" Gared slowly approached him, and then he looked from Pree to Draon, already knowing that he was dead. "He's dead?"

"Yes," and Pree looked over at Draon. "He's dead."

"Why?"

"He was here to kill me."

"Well, then I'm glad he's dead, but why would he want to kill you?"

"It's a long story, and the bottle's empty." Pree picked up the bottle and then dropped it onto its side. "And I'm tired."

"Well, at least, the rain stopped falling," but Gared continued to stare at Draon.

"That it did," Pree said.

"How'd he die," Gared asked him.

"Poison. It was in the bottle. I put it in there with a drop of my blood."

"Your blood," Gared asked.

Pree pulled his knife out of its hiding place underneath his sleeve. He looked at the blade for a long moment. Then, he sliced the tip of his right index finger open. Blood pooled out of the skin and dripped onto the table. It was red and black. "When she saved me, she did something to me, to my hands," and Pree wrapped a napkin against his finger. Then, he wiped the blade against his sleeve. "I don't know why she saved me."

"Who saved you, Pree?"

"I wish I knew, honey, but I don't think I ever will. And if she hadn't, then he would have killed me," and he gestured over to Draon. "The rest of me bleeds red," and Pree removed his napkin. His finger had stopped bleeding.

"Pree, you have a lot of secrets," Gared finally said.

"Yes, Gared, I do, and some of them are best not to be known. Now, how about we get rid of him," and Pree gestured toward Draon. "And we clean up the bar," and he looked over at the few men snoring away on the counter. "Then, we call it a night. It's been a very long night."

"Okay, Pree. I'll take care of him," and Gared lifted Draon up as if he were a drunk and unable to walk himself out. "Don't worry about it. I'll be right back," and Gared carried the body outside.

"I guess I'll clean house," Pree said as he stood up from his chair and stretched his arms over his head.

"Thank you," a female voice whispered into his ear.

Pree froze. He slowly looked around, wondering if she was here. He recognized that voice, but he didn't see her. And there were too many shadows against the walls, and the last time that he had seen her was a very long time ago back on that miserable black rock. What would she be doing here, but one thing was for sure. She saved him, so he didn't need to fear her. He kept his promise. "You're welcome," Pree said aloud.

"You're welcome," a drunk man nearby shouted at him.

"I wasn't talking to you," and Pree shook his head. "Alright, bitches. It's closing time. Get out of my bar," and he watched the last of his patrons groan and bitch as they pulled themselves away from the bar and slowly walk outside. "I think I had my share of the past," Pree said to himself. "It's time to look ahead," and he turned off the lights.


End file.
